


Wash It All Away

by imomomi



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Pro Volleyball Player Sakusa Kiyoomi, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-18 08:09:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29606469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imomomi/pseuds/imomomi
Summary: Soulmates are widely studied, but scientists haven’t gotten any closer to understanding why or how they exist. Sakusa Kiyoomi doesn’t really care about such things, but he can’t deny its existence when he wakes up every morning with new drawings on him.
Relationships: Sakusa Kiyoomi/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 97





	1. A Clean Slate

The doodles first started when he was 16. Little stars on his wrists when he woke up, a flower curling on his palm before class, an inky sketch of some mountains on his thigh. Rationally, he knew what they were, why they were there, but it didn’t stop the initial stab of disgust at seeing the ink on his body. He washed it off frequently and often right away. By the end of the week, the drawings became less frequent.

The loss of them did not hurt, but a stab of anxiety followed when he woke inkless and alone like always. Kiyoomi had never written back. The idea of writing—what if the ink was toxic and made him sick, what if they were allergic to something and it somehow leake—he took a breath, shaking the thoughts from his head.

He didn’t hate the idea of having a soulmate. It made life easier knowing that he didn’t need to waste his time looking for a partner. He preferred it when things were clear cut, easy to understand, and with a visible end in sight.

* * *

 _Not where people can see_ , he wrote on his thigh, just high enough that it wouldn’t show when he was playing. His handwriting was chicken scrawl and despite his attempts to make it neater, he never managed it.

He waited minuets, checking with such frequency that not even cleaning his room had taken his mind off it. Words didn’t always make it through. No one knew why or how the process worked. Scientists debated that the reason words didn’t appear were because communication as a human method, poets wrote about the mysteries of soulmate marks and fate, but Kiyoomi thought it was simpler than all of that. Soulmate marks lead you to your soulmate when you were ready. Relationships were messy and complicated and despite how alone he was at times, he didn’t want one right now.

A single word followed, written so neatly it could have been its own font.

_Ok._

* * *

The eighty-eighth floor of MSBY’s headquarters was not a place that Kiyoomi ever dared enter. He was content in receiving his paycheck on the day he was meant to and waiting for contract negations to raise any issues. Atsumu had managed to sneak his way into the Management and Finance department the first week he’d joined the team. Apparently, the gossip among their teammates wasn’t enough to quell his nosy behavior. How he’d managed to convince him to join in on his lunch-time venture, Kiyoomi wasn’t too sure. All he knew was that he regretted his decision already.

Couches were scattered in the main room surrounding large flat-screen T.Vs that played the news in a constant cycle. A large-open kitchen faced the back wall where a couple of people hung around, holding steaming mugs. Two people sat at one of the couches, intensely focused on a video-game they were playing. All around the floor, leading up the offices down the hall, were flowers. Some hung from the ceiling, spilling over the pots with vines drifting downwards. Large bouquets in crystal vases littered the tables. Kiyoomi could feel his nose twitching.

“Come on,” Atsumu said, leading him down the hall where several offices were tucked against the floor to ceiling windows. They came to a stop in front of a corner office where a small shoe rack lined with slippers, some still in the plastic casing, rested outside the door. A pair of pale pink slippers were on the top shelf, bunny ears plastered obnoxiously at the front.

“Take off your shoes. Y/N-chan hates dust. I’m pretty sure she ripped out the carpet with her bare hands when she got here.”

“I’m surprised you’re actually doing it,” said Kiyoomi. Too often had he watched in disgust as the man went home wearing the same sweaty clothes he’d practiced in.

“Y/N almost had a heart attack the first time I came in here, kinda made me feel bad not to listen after that,” Atsumu admitted. Kiyoomi struggled to rearrange his features to hide his doubt at the words and failed. 

“Yet, when I tell you to stop stealing my face masks and towels, you never listen,” he said, dryly.

“That’s different. She’s a girl. You’re Omi-Omi.”

“So, if I miraculously gain a vagin-” Kiyoomi started.

“Do ya ever shut up? I’m not arguin’ with ya in the middle of the hall,” Atsumu hissed, his accent coming out stronger in his annoyance. Kiyoomi rolled his eyes. If anything, it was Atsumu who started every one of their arguments, but his own boredom didn’t help.

“No need to be so sensitive,” said Kiyoomi.

“Put the damn slippers on,” Atsumu said, shoving the unopened packet into his gut. Sakusa smirked beneath his mask, gingerly opening up the slippers.

* * *

They were in the office for a full ten minutes before anyone arrived. Atsumu took the time to make himself comfortable in the leather chair behind the desk, making the various figurines of the team fight. Prototypes for the upcoming season, thought Kiyoomi, glancing at the little chibi version of himself in curiosity. The door snaps open and a woman walked in harried and tapping on her phone. She wasn’t dressed in office clothes, rather in an oversized hoodie with the name of a foreign university splashed across the front and leggings. The pink slippers that sat outside were on her feet.

“I thought I banned you from here last week,” she said with a groan, tossing a bag down onto the couch. She nodded to him in greeting, but otherwise ignored his existence.

“I bought a friend as a peace offering,” Atsumu said, throwing a hand in his direction. Y/N’s gaze fell to him briefly, brow furrowing.

“I don’t accept,” she said, turning to glare at Atsumu. “Human trafficking is bad. You would have learned that if you actually made it to college.”

“Sorry for joining the team,” said Atsumu. He stood from her desk, letting her settle in. Kiyoomi watched the two interact, wondering how long they had known one another.

“Please, I can replace you any day,” she muttered.

“We all know you love me too much to do that.”

“When I finally jump from the roof, I want everyone to know it’s your fault.”

“Take me with you,” Kiyoomi muttered, shooting Atsumu a look of disgust. Her lips twitched and she offered him a smile. Kiyoomi averted his gaze immediately, not liking that her attention finally focused on him. There was something unnerving in her gaze. 

“What do you want?” she asked.

“Business as usual. Sakusa needs you this time, not me,” Atsumu said.

“I’m sure you had nothing to do with that,” she drawled.

“I was brought against my will,” Sakusa acknowledged. She picked up a pen and notepad from her desk, clicking it rapidly as she started to scribble.

“We can file a report,” she joked, “I’m sure the papers would love to hear how Miya Atsumu was involved in a scandal with his teammate.”

“Suddenly, I’m regretting all my life choices leading up to this moment,” Atsumu said.

“You didn’t before?” Sakusa asked. Y/N laughed and Kiyoomi hated how the sound filled the air, bouncing with a levity that he’d never experienced on his own. People like Atsumu—and it seemed like Y/N—had a way of taking up space and never letting it go. They were loud because they thrived on the attention and Kiyoomi who had been surrounded by people but, alone all his life flinched away from it.

He pushed the thoughts away, explaining quickly and concisely that Atsumu had brought him here to specify how he wanted the locker room set up before games. Kiyoomi anticipated resistance to his requests but was shown a brutal efficiency that he can’t help but admire. Y/N listened attentively, taking notes, and asking questions, before promising that they would implement a new cleaning schedule before their next practice. They leave as quickly as they arrived, but part of him expected more and is left empty with the thought that there was something incomplete about their meeting.

* * *

That night’s drawing was a little cat curled up in a box. It looked like any other stray that he might see in Tokyo, but there was something endearing about the way its eyes were closed in two tiny smiles. Kiyoomi traced it idly. It must have taken a long time, he thought. The urge to draw something back filled him, but he has neither the talent nor willpower to sit and draw on himself for any length of time. Unlike when he was younger, the drawings came less frequently and always at night.

He watched; brow furrowed in confusion as words appeared beneath the drawing. The rare sight had his heart hammering loudly in his chest.

_Azabu, Tokyo._


	2. I Can't Draw

His morning runs were the small moments of peace he had before practice. Tokyo was eerily quiet in the mornings and his chances of running into one of his teammates—namely Atsumu—who he swore moved into his neighborhood just to annoy him—were low that he risked venturing outside without his usual headphones.

His mind for the last week and a half had been circling the around the words written on his thigh. Azabu, Tokyo. The very neighbor he lived in and had lived in all his life. Kiyoomi preferred the familiar to the unknown, but somehow the new variable thrown into his life had slowly started to eat at him. Had they met before? If so when? Would he ever be ready to give someone the level of trust a soulmate called for? The answer was a resounding no. He was fine on his own. The idea that he was somehow incomplete left a bad taste in his mouth.

Kiyoomi pushed himself to go faster. His feet beat a steady rhythm on the ground, and he counted each step to avoid rehashing the same trail of thoughts. He’d tell them to stop for good, the way he’d intended to in college before Komori had stopped him. He sped up again and turned the corner tightly, not focusing on anything but the slight burn in his body. The lack of focus damned him. Someone struck his side, falling backward as his pushed his body away from the stranger.

* * *

The collision hurt only for a moment, but it slowed his momentum and forced him to stop. His mind struggled to catch up to the fact that he had run into someone to begin with. Sweat pooled on his brow and slide down his temple. His eyes met Y/N’s startled gaze.

“Sakusa-san?” she asked, eyes widening at the sight of him sweating furiously. His face flushed beneath the mask as he took in the tear in tights, blood flowing freely from the fresh wound on her knee. He froze, caught between kneeling and looking at the wound and calling an ambulance. Pushing away his more dramatic thoughts, held out a hand to help her up. Her look of surprise made him roll his eyes. People often thought that he was so afraid of germs, he’d leave someone to die in the street. Help was something easily extended, even if he didn’t seem like he was the type to go out of his way to aid someone.

“There’s a pharmacy close to here. I’ll be right back,” said Kiyoomi, guiding her over to a bench. He leveled a cold, glare at her warning that if she moved, he’d find her and walked briskly towards the pharmacy. Embarrassment ran through him like waves crashing onto the shore. What kind of idiot ran into someone like that? Y/N had been running quickly too, but Kiyoomi prided himself on being constantly aware of his surroundings.

The pharmacy was empty, save for the lone clerk near the front that hadn’t even looked up when he entered. He stuffed his arms with more bandages, rubbing alcohol, and bacitracin than he needed and went up to the counter to pay. The teenage boy looked down at his purchases and then up at him with a curious gaze. Kiyoomi grimaced. His mask was such a part of his persona that people recognized him more when he wore it than when he didn’t.

“Are you part of our rewards program?” the boy asked.

“No and I’ll need a bag and will be paying by card.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thank you,” Kiyoomi muttered, looking away.

“Ummm, can I get a photo?” asked the boy. His voice was so low, Kiyoomi almost missed the request. He glanced at his name tag quickly.

“I’m in a bit of a rush. I’ll come back tomorrow when I’m less sweaty, Sasaki-san.”

“Really,” Sasaki perked up, a bright smile lighting his face. Kiyoomi nodded. “Thank you so much, Sakusa-san. I’m a huge fan!”

“Thank you as well,” Kiyoomi said, taking the bag from his hands and rushing out of the store. He ran over to the park, scanning the benches to make sure Y/N hadn’t left. She was sprawled out on the same bench he’d left her on, both legs hanging over the arm rest, as she lay with one arm behind her head.

“That was quick,” said Y/N. She sat up, crossed her legs over on another so the wounded one was on top. Kiyoomi took the empty seat next to her and pulled the items out of the bag.

“Did the bleeding stop?” he asked, wetting some gauze with alcohol.

“I haven’t checked,” she said. He sighed and avoided her burning gaze. Shifting closer, he leaned down to look at the wound. Dirt stuck to her skin, but most of the blood had congealed.

“This will sting,” he warned.

“You should have been a surgeon,” said Y/N. A hint of a smile lined her words. She winced as the alcohol washed over the wound but refrained from jerking away.

“I’ll stick to volleyball. Having my hands near organs just seems like a bad idea.”

“You do have very nice hands, elegant like a pianist. Do you play any instruments?”

“No questions. This isn’t an interview.”

“Ewww, don’t compare me to a reporter,” said Y/N. Kiyoomi bit back his smirk as he bandaged her knee. Glancing at her from the corner of his eye, he marveled over the blank skin of her arms. No marks anywhere in sight. Was she one of the rare people that didn’t have a soulmate? Last time they had met, he assumed her marks were hidden underneath her hoodie.

“What’s wrong with reporters?”

“I’m not the one that usually deals with them, but I do attend some of those press conferences and if I have to hear one more person blow up over Atsumu’s behavior, I’m going to lose it.”

“The two of you are close?”

“We started on the same day, so we kind of look out for each other. He was a bit lonely when he first moved here.”

“Strange.”

“Am I okay to walk now, Dr. Sakusa?”

“Don’t call me that.” He smoothed down the bandage and handed her the bag. Hopefully, this would be enough of an apology without him having to say the actual words. “Try not to run into anyone else and you’ll be fine.”

“You ran into me, you jerk,” she shouted after him as he took off. Kiyoomi waved over his shoulder, attempting to ignore the fact that his lips twitched into a grin at her words. _Jerk_ , he thought. When had anyone other than Komori been brave enough to call him that to his face?

Laughing softly to himself, he ventured farther away from her.

* * *

He was both surprised and not to see Y/N sitting in the VIP room with Atsumu when he arrived at the club. She had been slipping into his life slowly, showing up at the gym at random times and being forced to take lunch with him and Atsumu frequently. According to Hinata, she was their Operations Manager, which meant everything surrounding the club from the cleaning schedules to their travel plans went through her first. Becoming friends with her meant, having a better roommate when they went to away games. He would take Inunaki over Bokuto any day.

“Don’t mix your drinks,” she scolded, pulling the tray of shots away from a giggling Hinata.

“L/N-chan, come on, I’m an adult now!”

“You don’t have the body mass to dea-Bokuto! Stop egging him on.”

“Y/N, chill out. Here have a shot,” said Atsumu. She exchanged a desperate look with Akaashi who shrugged and gestured for her to throw back the shot. She shook her head looking exactly how he felt on the inside. Desperate to leave, but with no escape to the stupidity surrounding her.

“Leave her alone,” said Sakusa. Atsumu screeched, spinning around to look at his looming figure, “Don’t you have anything better to do than bother people?”

“Nah, I got banned from my Instagram account for the night. Apparently, I’m ‘inappropriate and too lax about nudity'.’”

“Sakusa-san, I didn’t think you were coming,” said Y/N.

“I didn’t want to, but team celebrations are included in my contract.” He took the empty seat next to her, glancing around the table. A whole feast had been amassed for them. Piles of fried chicken glazed with garlic-ginger sauce, gyoza, porkbelly wraps and so many other carbs, it gave Kiyoomi a stomach-ache just looking at the food. He hadn’t been feeling well to begin with, but the sight of the food made his stomach roll.

“Here,” whispered Y/N. She pulled a container from a paper bag on the floor. The familiar logo of Onigiri Miya stuck on the top. “Osamu gave it to us earlier. Don’t tell anyone though, I don’t have enough.”

His smile reached his eyes for the first time that night.

* * *

“Sakusa-san still isn’t back?” she asked, settling the tray of shots down on the table. Bokuto and Hinata surged forward.

“Bathroom,” Atsumu said as he slapped away Hinata’s hand. Bokuto’s cheeks were flushed red from the laughter and alcohol. She worried that he would have trouble going home, but Akaashi-san seemed to not be drunk at all, despite having had enough shots to down an elephant.

“He’s been in there for a while,” she said. He’d left 15 minutes ago, far too pale for her liking. Inunaki sighed and stood with a groan. Since Meian and Barnes had slipped away earlier, he’d become the unofficial leader of their group.

“I’ll go check on him.”

“Hmm, let me come too,” said Y/N. She grabbed her back and grimaced as it accidentally hit Atsumu on the head. The drink in his hand spilled all over his shirt and he shouted a curse at her as she left the room.

“It’s a men’s bathroom.”

“I’ve seen dicks before,” she said. Inunaki choked, coughing loudly enough to attract the attention of the people idling near their private room. She ducked her head down, avoiding the cameras aimed at the libero. As much as she loved the team and people she worked with, the constant press was annoying. Y/N preferred being behind the camera making sure everything ran smoothly so that when the time came of the players to do their job, they could without any worries.

“You can’t say shit like that, L/N,” said Inunaki. “At least give me a warning.”

“I bet you’ve seen more than I have.”

“Y/N…for the love of god, please stop. I’m too old for this shit,” said Inunaki.

“You’re like two years older than me.”

She pushed the door to the men’s room open, ignoring the shout of the lone man at the urinal. The sound of gagging filled the air mixing with the stench of vomit. Y/N head towards the only closed stall and knocked on the door. The man behind her was still cursing but shut his mouth when she glared coldly.

“Go away,” said Sakusa. His voice sounded feeble like a child’s and weaker than a man on his death bed.

“It’s me, Sakusa-san,” said Y/N. The vomiting stopped for a moment and a low groan reached her ears.

“It’s the men’s room.”

“I have medicine and water. Please open the door.” The latch on the door rattled for a moment, before the door was pulled open. Sakusa loomed over her, pale and shaking slightly, as he clutched his stomach. There was a thin sheen of sweat on his brow and his mask was looped over his forearm. Her hand came up automatically to check his temperature, an instinct from years of watching over her younger sister. Kiyoomi’s skin was too warm, burning with fever.

“That feels good,” he mumbled, leaning into the cool touch. A loud noise came from behind them as a man entered the bathroom, drink in hand and promptly dropped it upon seeing her. Y/N took hold of Sakusa’s hand and pulled him out of the stall. Inunaki gave her a bewildered look as she exited the bathroom. Sakusa didn’t protest as she moved down the hall and out of the club, still gripping his hand.

“We’re going to the hospital. You have a fever and you’re drunk. It’s not a good combination.”

“I’m not drunk,” Sakusa muttered. She looked at him worriedly, each shift of his body sending another bout of anxiety through her. “It’s the flu or worse.”

She pulled a water bottle out of purse and uncapped it. Sakusa drank half the bottle in moments while Y/N flagged down a taxi. Was he okay entering a stranger’s car, she thought with a frown, especially given how he’d denied Atsumu’s offer to drive him to the club. His car would be stuck here until he came back and got it, but maybe she could persuade him to let her come get it after he was admitted.

A black car pulled up before them and the taxi driver opened the window to ask where they were going. He grimaced when she named the hospital looking between the two of them with a deep frown. She pulled two 10,000¥ bills and handed them to him with the reassurance that she would pay for cleaning if Sakusa happened to vomit.

Sakusa sighed heavily and pulled his mask on. She scrambled him afterwards, pulling the door shut with a slam.

“We should be there soon, so just hang in there, ok?” said Y/N. Squeezing his knee, she was unaware of the swirling emotions battling inside Sakusa at that moment. If she had been, perhaps, she would have hesitated in comforting him. But Y/N had come to terms with the fact that her soulmate didn’t want her. They put up with her, but never once had they attempted to communicate with her past the few short words that had made it through their bond. There was nothing holding her back from moving on from the hope that she would one day meet them.

“Thank you,” muttered Sakusa softly. Her breath stuttered when his hand came to rest over hers squeezing tightly.

“You’re my friend,” she said simply.

* * *

He woke up sometime around midnight in an unfamiliar room. An IV drip was stuck to his arm, a low glow spilled in from the hallway. The room was bare expect for a television and a generic painting on the wall.

Y/N slept in the chair by his bed, curled around her jacket. Despite the uncomfortable position, there was no tension in her face. He remembered an old conversation they had where she had admitted to being able to sleep anywhere but liked sleeping in planes the best.

He noticed again that even her legs were bare from any marks and thought about how lonely that life might have been to have no soulmate. Despite his lack of contact with his own, he found the nightly drawings a comforting reminder that there was someone out there waiting for him. Maybe, Y/N had someone like that, and her marks were hidden away where he couldn’t see them. He hoped so. Shuffling out of bed, he pulled the IV with him.

“Sakusa-san?” Y/N murmured. She shifted and stretched. Her eyes narrowed, blearily. “Where are you going?”

“You should have gone home. Your neck will hurt sleeping like that.”

“I didn’t want you to wake up alone.” Silence. Warmth held him there; steady and unwavering. It was a strange, dreamy feeling that passed through him like wine. He wanted to say something back that would affect her the same way, but his words failed him.

Did she know what it meant to him? Once when he was young, he had gotten a fever, hot and high. His mother had come home hours later, tried from work and passed over his room in a haze that filled her when she wanted to be alone. The next day, Komori had come stomping to his house demanding to know why he hadn’t come to school. Kiyoomi had been too lost to his illness to answer. But he had learned the difference between his parent’s distant love and Komori’s unending warmth.

“Come sleep in the bed.”

“You’re ill.”

“I’ll have them bring a cot into the room,” he said.

“Don’t bother the nurses. They have enough to do. I’ve slept in worse positions, so please don’t worry.”

Was that what this was? Worrying? It felt bigger than that, like part of him was hurt from seeing her in discomfort. She stretched forward. Her fingers wrapped around his wrist and turned over his palm. A light touch on his palm drew the character for person.

“There.” She let go and smiled. “Now, all your worries are gone. Go back to sleep.”

In the darkness, he could pretend that it meant nothing. But his heart thudded unsteadily long after he had gotten back into bed.

* * *

A large stuffed egg sat at the end of his bed with a note taped to the front. _Gudetama_ , he recognized. His nephew was a large fan of the cartoon egg. The handwriting on the note was vaguely familiar to Kiyoomi.

_Sorry for leaving before you woke. There was an emergency at work, but everything is taken care of! The doctor said you can go home when you wake. Please rest! I’ll come check on you later._

The characters were written in perfect arches and lines so straight, it looked more like a font than someone’s handwriting. It’s not her. It can’t be her. The thought was impossible, but it stuck in his mind with a clarity and strength that chases after him like a hungry dog.

It was the same handwriting.

That was a fact, unreasonable to refute but hard to accept. He mulled over the possibility for a while, staring at the note as if it would give him an answer.

* * *

“You think she’s your soulmate?” asked Atsumu.

“She lives in Azabu. Her handwriting is the same. And she has lilies in her office.”

“So? What does that mean?”

“Look,” Kiyoomi rolled the hem of his shorts up slightly, revealing the intricate lily drawn on his thigh. Hinata breathed in sharply, shoving Atsumu slightly, as he pointed at the mark in wonder.

“Woah, that’s amazing! Why do you only have one, though?”

“Yeah, look at this,” Bokuto pulled off his knee pads revealing the rough doodles up and down his legs. Some were well drawn, most likely Akaashi’s, but others like the two stick figures playing volleyball were no doubt Bokuto’s. “You’re supposed to have more. It’s like a text message but more personal.”

“I can’t draw.”

“What?” Atsumu scoffed, clutching his sides as he laughed. “That’s bullshit, no one cares about that.”

“It’s embarrassing,” he muttered. Y/N—if it was her—put so much effort into each drawing. Kiyoomi felt that whatever he could offer back would be crude and inadequate next to hers. “It’s like if we asked a person off the street to join our team. Imagine how small they would feel playing with us.”

“But, it’s not about that,” said Bokuto. His hand came down hard on Kiyoomi’s shoulder, jerking him forward. Bokuto paid no mind to the glare directed at him. “It’s about communicating with your partner. Soulmate marks aren’t supposed to be a competition, they’re supposed to be a way for you to find that person that just fits into your life. Did you ever think about how much it must hurt them? They put all that work in and you never send anything back.”

Kiyoomi hadn’t ever thought of that. He’d been so consumed in rejecting the idea of a soulmate and his own doubts about being in a relationship, that he’d forgotten to think of the effort, and will it must have taken to keep going, every day and night despite his silence. A feeling like dread, but dense and heavy the way water felt when you dived too deep, swirled in his gut.

“Are you sure it’s her?” Hinata asked.

“It is,” said Atsumu. Kiyoomi looked at him sharply, seeing for the first time the self-satisfied grin he wore.

“How do you know?”

“Why do you think I introduced you guys? I saw one of the drawings once when you were in the shower an-“

“Pervert. Why were you even looking?”

“The shower curtain was halfway open! It’s not like I wanted to see your junk…but I gotta say-”

“No. Shut up, I don’t want to hear it. Go back to how you decided to manipulate me and your friend.”

“Shit, Omi, don’t say it like that.”

“How else do you want me to say it?”

“You’re both dumb as fuck,” Atsumu said, his accent thicker than ever. “It would have taken ages for you to meet on your own. You should be thanking me.”

“I like her,” Kiyoomi admitted. Atsumu’s jersey fluttered to the ground and the room seemed to stand still. Inunaki clapped a hand on Sakusa’s shoulder as he passed him. Saying it aloud was easier than he thought it would be and now that he’s said it, more words spill out, “She’s kind and pleasant to be around. I…I never really thought that I would find my soulmate, but if it’s her…then I’m glad that I did.”

“Really? Like for real? Because if you’re just play-“

“Weren’t you the one that said you introduced us on purpose?”

“Look, I’m just checking. What are you going to do?”

“Nothing.”

“What? Omi Omi, you need to make her fall in love with you,” said Bokuto.

“Why?”

“She’s your soulmate! You’re supposed to get together and be in love and be happy!” said Hinata.

“Oi, calm down,” said Meian. He shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest looking over the four of them with such exhaustion that even Kiyoomi couldn’t help the bit of guilt that welled up. “Don’t push him. Let it happen naturally, you guys can’t just force these things.”

Should he do something? Y/N had never shown any interest in discussing soulmates. In fact, she often avoided the subject when it was brought up. It had been cruel to ask her to keep it hidden. He couldn’t go back and change that and doing nothing now would let another chance slip away.

“If I did…want to pursue that kind of rela-“

“Omi-kun, don’t worry! I’ll teach ya how to do it,” said Atsumu.

He was doomed. 


	3. A Clumsy Band-Aid

The first drawing that appeared on her was a clumsy band-aid, situated right over her left knee and nearly matches the real band aid she has on the opposite knee. The second drawing on her arm appeared in the middle of a meeting and came as such a shock that she excused herself and hid in the bathroom until it was complete. A sloppy egg that she was sure was meant to mean something, but she didn’t know what. Before the day’s end lilies, shakingly drawn, bloomed to life on her wrist. Y/N sat underneath her desk, curled in a corner, for a long while staring at the black ink, trying, and failing to understand what had changed.

For so long, she had forced herself to care, to make it comfortable and easy for her soulmate—and what she had gotten in return was a stubborn silence. Why now? Why when she was just starting to feel like she could move on?

It was like that that Inunaki found her. The door to her office quivering as it slammed against the glass. Inunaki had seen her shoes still there, heard her soft muttering as he let himself in.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, falling to his knees to help her immediately.

Startled and slightly embarrassed that she had been found in such a position, she crawled out and dusted herself off. “Headache. Did you need something?”

“Yeah, wanted to ask about the upc—” He trailed off looking at her exposed arms in deep surprise. Y/N rolled her sleeves back down, grabbing her cardigan from the back of her chair. Inunaki recovered quickly, distracting her as he tried to maneuver himself into an empty room for the training trip, but his eyes kept flickering back to her arms.

He stayed, waiting until she was ready to leave, and walked her to her car.

“Y/N.” His voice is odd as if he were holding back a laugh. She’s too focused on fumbling in her bag for her eyes to notice that he had stopped walking and was looking at someone in the distance.

She stopped walking, arm deep in her purse. “What?”

“I—uh, what do you like to eat?”

Finally finding her keys, she looked up and rolled her eyes at him. His phone was in his hand, fingers flying across the screen. “I’m not fussy, just something homecooked. I’m not a big fa—what are you doing?”

“Nothing!” He tucked his phone into his back pocket before she could read his texts and through broken stutters told her he had forgotten his bag upstairs.

“Weirdo,” she muttered. Turning around, she walked toward her car, but her eyes finally caught sight of what had made Inunaki leave. Sakusa Kiyoomi stood awkwardly in the parking lot, his eyes trailing over the parked cars. Part of her was ready to turn around and take the subway as she normally did. But this was Sakusa.

“L/N-san,” he greeted.

“Is there a reason you’re haunting the parking lot like a creep? Don’t let the paparazzi catch yo—”

A furrow formed in his brow. “Is it creepy? Bokuto told me this was he usually did.”

“I mean, a six-foot-three man decked out all in black with a mask on in a com—”

“I get it,” he said and rolled his eyes for good measure. “Are you off work?”

Y/N was silent for some time. Her heart beat quickly in her chest, fluttering so fast she was sure he could read her pulse from her exposed neck. On a normal day, she wouldn’t mind going out with him. Sakusa was easy to get along with, surprisingly funny, and if she was being honest with herself, she looked forward to seeing him. She was glad he was her friend even if part of her sometimes wished for something a little more.

“What’s wrong?” Sakusa leaned over her, one hand hooking around the loop of his mask to pull it off his ear and reveal the frown on his face. Y/N sighed, pressed all her worries and hurt deep into a box, and tucked it away.

“I’m fine—just work. Don’t worry abo—”

“Don’t lie.” His fingers pressed between her brow, smoothing out the wrinkle. “What is it?”

Y/N shook her head, lip wobbling and doesn’t answer.

Later when Sakusa’s convinced her to come to dinner with him, when she’s curled up on his couch looking around the large apartment with wide eyes, she came to realize that maybe it was okay for her to be happy for a little while. Soulmates weren’t fated to be happy or together. It was wholly possible that her soulmate bond was platonic.

“Something’s upset you,” Sakusa remarked again. He’d been quiet about it all dinner, but his eyes followed her sharply.

“D—Don’t worry about it. How was practice?”

His frown doesn’t disappear but, his voice filled the air. His tone bordered distaste, but the hint of softness in his face gave away his true feelings regarding his teammates. As much as he complained, there was a part of him that was happy to be part of the chaos, that thrived under the challenge presented to him.

There’s something soft about him like his—a warm sweater, his hair slightly damp from the shower he’d taken, the mask gone leaving her able to see each of his expressions. Stoic was not an apt word to describe Kiyoomi, his face gave away his thoughts too readily.

“Kiyoomi—” He stopped speaking, looking at her with dark eyes. Like a puppet on a string, her body moved on its own accord, closing the distance between them. He shuddered slightly beneath her touch.

Her hand cupped the back of his head, fingers tangling in his hair. Wide eyes met hers, but Kiyoomi didn’t pull away.

“Can I kiss you?” she asked.

Kiyoomi didn’t nod, but he leaned up and closed the distance between them. The taste of him—the smell of him, the warmth of his fingers trailing over her spine, pressed into her skin—was too sweet. For a moment, that touch quieted her mind and made the world seem right.

He seemed to melt right into her making her feel like there was lightning coursing through her. His hand gripped her waist, the other held the back of her neck as he molded himself into her. All the thoughts in her head were silenced by his touch. An inexplicable girlish affection welled up in her chest. A single touch from her, soft and gentler than any Kiyoomi’s used to, and she felt his breath stutter. The edges of her faded into him, slipping her way into his skin and beneath his bones. He pulled away from her and leaned his forehead against hers.

“Scary?” she asked.

“Let’s try it again,” he said. Y/N swore that she forgot her own name for a moment. Some of the softness was gone, a desperation lingering beneath each touch. Y/N pulled away breathless and grinning. Her hand slipped into his, smaller and softer than his own.

“Was that okay?” he asked.

She nodded, not trusting her voice to tell her exactly how she felt.

“Y/N—” his voice caught over the syllables of her name. “—I—I don’t kno—” He cut himself off, breathing out harshly. His fingers shake. Y/N watched as he stood suddenly and cross the room, grabbing a marker from a little tray by the TV.

He sits on the floor, right in front of her, his hand cupping her palm as he uncapped the marker with his mouth. Her hand clasped around his wrist, stopping the marker from touching her skin.

“It’ll make it worse,” she said.

He smiled, his head ducked down and pressed a soft kiss against her palm and then he drew. It’s a squiggle at best but after a moment she can see the beginnings of a flower. When he finished, he placed the marker behind him and offered her his closed fist.

Hope bloomed in her chest—Sakusa wouldn’t hurt her on purpose. With trembling fingers, she unclasped his fist and stared down at the mirror image of the flower. She was stunned into silence—a thousand questions sprung to life at once. Old hurts, anger too, but mostly she felt relieved because if it’s Kiyoomi then it’s okay.

“I never wanted a soulmate—not at sixteen. Not when I didn’t know who I was. I’m sorry for making you wait, for all my silence. You don’t have to forgive m—”

“Kiyoomi.”

He stopped and looked up at her.

Y/N brushed a curl from his face and smiled softly. “I’m not going to hold who you were then against you…I was scared when this—" She gestured to her hand and then to her thigh. “—all started because I wanted _you_.”

She has so much more she wants to say, but the sight of the shaky flower on her hand puts her words to rest. A small giggle broke out, and then another, until she was breathless with laughter.

“I mean, if my soulmate drew as well as I did and this is all I could come up with, I wouldn’t answer back either.”

His face dropped, a scowl taking over that tells her everything will be alright.


End file.
